One Bad Day
by kelikala
Summary: "A broken man looked back, a cracked face of white fading behind streams of blackened tears. Scars, marred and jagged, peeked out from beneath their painted camouflage, a face from the past, mocking in silence. A reminder of days thought long forgotten…"


A pair of sunken brown eyes glared across a dented steel table with a stare intense enough to unhinge any sane soul that dared cross their path. The light tap of a shoe against the concrete floor marked the passing seconds like a time bomb eagerly counting down to the last moment of destruction. A soft hum slowly filled the room and a thin man leaned forward from the shadows, his body tired of sitting in a bolted-down metal chair. A cracked mask of white greasepaint covered his face, accentuated by dark black painted circles that bleed away from a pair of unfeeling eyes. A faded red maniacal smile stretched from cheek to cheek, faintly covering deep scars that carved an unnatural grin across his stone-cold visage. The man reached forward and gingerly placed a set of cuffed hands on the frigid table before him. He began lightly drumming his paint-stained fingers along the angled edge of the tabletop as he took in a deep breath.

The air in the room was stale and a thin veil of dust seemed to linger in the dim light of a nearby lamp that buzzed with an electric whine. The frantic finger-drumming grew wilder, and the hands that had been tapping steadily just moments ago, turned white knuckled before they slammed down on the table with an echoing bang. The man tossed his head backwards, his wavy locks of unnaturally green tangled hair falling against his neck as he breathed in and then bit at his lower lip. He licked the inside of his cheeks nervously, his tongue etching the jagged scars that lined the inside of his mouth like barbed wire. His eyes searched the room, scouring every square inch of the floor and ceiling. He wondered how many hours he had wasted away in this desolate prison… how many cars he could have chased and pitted with bullets as panicked death screams wailed out from inside. He was growing uneasy; his body ached for chaos as he leaned forward putting his elbows on the table, while he fingered an imaginary knife.

Footsteps echoed dully in the hall outside the bolted door, drawing the man's attention away from his thoughts of bloodshed. He placed his cuffed hands flat against the top of the table. The cold steel burned against his sweaty palms. He smiled viciously, laughing like a crazed hyena. His voice echoed, raising the hair on the farthest arms within earshot of his voice. His glance then turned to a single pane of darkened glass set against a pale brick wall. He swiveled slightly in his seat, cocking his head to one side, as he furrowed his brow while he stared blankly towards the glass.

He knew full well that a gaggle of Gotham's finest porkers were gawking at him from the other side, and he was certain that they must have been enjoying the show, so who was he to disappoint? He raised his arms and tilted his head back, giving his neck a well-deserved crack. Slowly, he rose to his feet and began pacing about with an erratic gait. He shook his head, clicking his tongue against the roof of his mouth. Then, with a great leap he threw himself against the reflective glass, shouting a ghastly 'boo' as he slid down the slippery surface, and fell to the floor with a deafening thud. For a moment he lay on his side with his mouth drawn wide, his wayward laugh permeating every porous substance in the vicinity. It seemed that there would be no end to his delight, but he soon grew bored and leaped to his feet with a growl. He snapped his teeth towards the wall as he made his way back to his chair. With a half-hearted snarl, he plopped his lean frame down into the seat of the chair, stretching back with a great sigh as he glared across the room.

His eyes focused on the secured door before him. His mind was ablaze with manic details. Raving thoughts darted through his head, trying to find a place in his scheme of madness. He felt like a caged hawk starving for escape, for an opportunity to take flight, leaving behind nothing more than a trail of scattered feathers, or perhaps a few dismembered limbs. He gnawed feverishly on his tongue, tasting blood as he quickly licked the outside of his lips.

Thoughts of escape excited him. He began to bounce lightly in his seat, humming to himself with a grin, repeating the words 'who's afraid of the big black bat' over and over again, in childish rhyme. His skin seemed to crawl with an unnerving energy, his eyes darted about, waiting for the moment the door would open, waiting for that one chance for freedom, waiting to get that one phone call that was so rightfully his, the one everyone so adamantly denied him.

His glance turned to the tabletop. Its stainless steel surface glowed under the warm light of the table lamp so precariously perched at one edge of the table. His face grew curious and his half-cocked smile seemed to fade as he looked down, catching the sight of his own reflection staring back at him from the metal table. A broken man looked back, a cracked face of white fading behind streams of blackened tears. Scars, marred and jagged, peeked out from beneath their painted camouflage, a face from the past, mocking in silence. A reminder of days thought long forgotten…

The sun boiled hot, behind the stifling midday haze, as a set of trembling hands tightened nervously around a well-worn rifle. A pair of elbows rested along the rough black tar that covered the roof of a deserted building overlooking the back alley behind the National bank. Unblinking brown eyes watched the pavement below, waiting for the opportune moment to kill and to be rewarded for a job well done. A quick glance at a watch encircling a sweaty wrist marked just two minutes before the door would open. Two minutes until a trio of wannabe mobsters tumbled out into the street, through a shower of bullets fired by his own hand. Two minutes until the job was done and he was rewarded with half a million-dollar haul and sent home free. Home to his wife and baby to be, where he would worry no longer about the bills and the debt incurred by his inability to make people laugh. No longer would he be a failed comedian shunned from every pub and theater in town. A man left in shambles, a man left holding a gun in order to make ends meet.

He took in a deep breath as a soft breeze blew his wavy shoulder-length locks over his face. He shook his head gently, tossing his hair away as he caught sight of his watch, ticking away with only one minute left to go until the show. He could feel his finger tighten around the trigger while he closed one eye, pointed his rifle down, and aimed at the rusty steel door below.

An alarm sounded from inside the bank and his heart quickened, adrenalin pulsing through his veins as he awaited his targets. He watched intently, eyes focused on the door, waiting. A dull clang of metal echoed as the back door to the bank flew open, slamming against the brick façade as three men scrambled into the alley.

He swallowed hard, coiled his finger around the trigger, and pulled it without a second thought. He fired blindly as he felt cold hard steel against his skull and he fell flat against the roof, fading in and out of consciousness. A booted foot pressed against his throat and he heard an insulting laugh as he felt someone rip his piece from his grip.

He looked around wildly. It wasn't until he'd peered over the edge of the roof, that he saw through doubled vision, a van backing into the alleyway, opening its doors. Two of the men climbed inside, scurrying over the third, who was lying motionless in the alley. The van sped off, disappearing into the steady flow of rush hour traffic. The hit man reached out, shaking in anger. A pair of burly fists reached down, lifted the man, and dragged him away from the edge of the building, throwing him against the heated rooftop.

He rolled to his side, and opened his eyes. A face appeared before him, lips widening in a sinful smile. Again a pair of thick hands wrapped around his collar and sat him upright on a plastic bucket as another hand took in a fistful of his hair, and pulled his head back to a painful unnatural angle.

"I'm surprised at you," a deep voice uttered beside him. "And here I thought you were on top of your game. Such a shame you missed your target, with all that money on the line."

"He didn't miss." A round-figured man replied as he tugged more tightly on the hairs in his hand. "Looks like he got one of 'em."

"So he did," the leader of the two baboons snarled as he went to the edge of the roof and looked down into the dim alley. "Stroke of luck, or dumb luck, as they say."

"What do you want?" The young man snarled under his breath, as the man behind him loosened his grasp, pushing his captive's head forward before mussing the young man's tangled hair.

"Boss says he has some more use for you, since you seemed so eager to knock off some of his own men for chump change. Said something 'bout you needing money bad and that you'd be willing to do just 'bout anything to get it. 'Cause of that, it seems the boss has some bigger plans for you, Jack. Something bigger than shooting at easy targets in a carnival game."

"That was going to be my only hit," Jack growled, rubbing at the knot growing on his head.

"Or so you thought," the thinner of the two said though a wayward smile as his round minion laughed.

"See, what the boss tells me to do, I does it, you see, and everything turns out alright for me. I don't find myself in a suitcase, sleeping with the fishes, and I get to go home at night. That's what brings us up here, 'cause the boss said to bring you in, 'cause he's got a deal for you he's sure you won't refuse, seeing as there isn't anything left for you to go home to"

"What are you saying?" Jack asked with a scowl, as the man before him reached into his coat pocket, and pulled out a stack of photos.

"Pretty little thing, she was," the man said with a sneer. His lips curved into a delighted smile, while he thumbed through the pictures in his hand. "Nice curvy figure and bright blue eyes. Tried getting her to see things our way, but she didn't want to play our little game, Jack. See, she started waving around this big old kitchen knife she pulled from a drawer, swung it around like a set of claws on a feral cat. Slim, there behind ya, didn't like it much, so he tried to talk her in to putting it down, but no, she had to go and scream for help. So what else could he do but put his hand over that pretty little mouth to shut her up? She didn't want to give up the fight and bit his hand and, well… that's all she wrote. One quick jerk of his arm, that's all it took and she fell to the floor like a rag doll." He tossed the pictures at the young man sitting in front of him, scattering them on the ground near his feet.

"Now, now Jack, don't you worry," the henchman replied. He produced a switchblade knife from the side pocket of his coat, watching intently as Jack picked up the photos. He then made his way towards the young man, cocking his head slightly as he pointed down to the photo Jack held in his trembling hands.

"See, now, that's my work, there. Posed her all nice at the bottom of the basement steps. Maybe it was an accident or maybe—wait! Just maybe, a fight with the hubby that went horribly wrong."

Jack could feel an intense anger building within him, as a fury of emotion boiled over. He bit down on his lower lip, splitting it open. A warm line of blood fell along his jaw, his eyes wet with tears.

"Oh my, funny boy gonna cry?" The man sneered, slapping his hand against Jack's reddened face. It was then that Jack jumped to his feet, reached out and grabbed the man's arm, causing him to drop the knife he was holding. Just then, he felt a pair of hands catch his shoulders and thrust him back into his seat. He tried to move and as he stood once more, he felt something move across his face, slicing into the corner of his mouth. Jack tasted metal against his tongue and he panicked. He reached up and pawed at the wire pulled tight against his cheeks, grasping at the bulky hands behind his head that held it taut. The pain was intense, blinding his desire to escape with despair. He dropped his hands with a deep sigh, letting them fall to his side as salty tears traced their way down his bloodstained face.

"Ah, much better," the leader of the operation cackled as he rubbed his wrist. "Just a little cooperation, that's all we're asking. See we took away all the petty distractions that had you hiding out on a roof, shooting at bank robbers for money. Thought it would give us a bit of leverage, you could say. Now when the police go poking around trying to figure out what happened to your little doll, they're gonna wonder where her old hubby was. They'll go to that little corner market where you were supposed to start working today... but wait! Oh no, you're not there!" The man said with a look of surprise.

"Well, you see, since hubby is nowhere to be found and his pretty little misses is lying dead at the bottom of the stairs, it's all gonna seem a bit fishy to the coppers. Hard to prove your innocence when you're not where you're supposed to be. What you gonna tell them, Jack? That you were perched up here on the rooftop shooting at robbers to protect the city?"

"I'll never work for Falcone," Jack muttered softly. The wire against his face biting into his flesh with each word.

"Never say never, Jackie," the headman replied, leaning towards Jack, running his hand over Jack's hair as the goon behind him pulled back on the wire in Jack's mouth. Jack closed his eyes trying not to react to the searing pain that ravaged his body, fighting back the tears that wanted to fall from his eyes.

"Aww, Jack doesn't look very happy now, does he, Slim?" Jack heard the man reply to the bloated beast behind him. "How 'bout we put a smile on Jackie boy's face?" Jack felt the wire running through his mouth dig deeper into his skin and he dug his hands into his knees as the piece of metal was drawn back, pulling his lips into a forced wayward smile.

"See now, that wasn't so hard now, was it? Nice to see you can still smile, Jackie. Now how about you say the words and we'll pull that thing out of your mouth. Come on now Jackie, open your eyes and look at me. All you have to do is say you'll work for the boss, and this will all be over."

Jack said nothing. His eyes closed even more tightly as he felt his heart rate quicken. A thin veil of sweat covered every square inch of his flesh, igniting a fury within like he had never known. The pain piercing through his skin faded, fueling a burning desire to kill. Jack's eyes opened with a flash, their brown hue now overshadowed by an ominous glare. A sinister curl grew along the edge of his upper lip.

The man who stood before Jack paused for a moment, his mischievous smirk quickly fading as Jack's intense stare drilled through him. Without a moment of hesitation, Jack swung around and caught hold of the metal wire holding him at bay. He felt nothing as it bore through his flesh, carving a jagged grin across his face. Jack turned on his captor, wrapped the wire around the burly man's wrist and wound it tightly until it ground against bone. With a quick tug and a sound like a cleaver thunking through meat, a severed hand fell to the ground. The large henchman grabbed at his blooded arm and fell to his knees, howling in pain. Jack looked down at the dismembered limb as a maniacal laugh began to radiate from deep within his bowels.

He turned away, rubbing his tongue against the inside of his cheeks, poking at his jagged wounds. The taste of blood was full upon his lips as he took a step towards the other man who stood unmoving. He seemed fearful as Jack stepped forward, so much so that he barely took notice as Jack reached down to pick up the switchblade knife that he had dropped just moments earlier. The man took a step backwards, followed quickly by another as Jack stepped closer, holding the knife out while gesturing with the other hand for him to come to his side.

"How about I just give you the money, Jack? I give you the money the boss promised for the job and we'll just call it even?" The man's voice quivered in fear, while he took yet a few more steps away, finally tripping and stumbling over his own two feet. He held up his hand, urging Jack not to take another step as he realized how precariously close he was to the edge of the building.

Jack moved forward and knelt down next to the man before he grabbed a handful of hair and put the knife against his captive's throat.

"Funny how the tables are _turned_," Jack purred with a delighted smile. "Silly, it seems that you thought _I'd_ be the man cowering at the tip of this blade," he cooed again, pressing the knife gently into the trembling man's skin.

"You seem to like games, so let's have a little fun," Jack said with a half-cocked smile gleaming red with clotted blood. "Let's start with your name, shall we?"

"To-To-Tony… Tony's my name," the man stuttered, swallowing hard as he felt the knife press deeper into his skin.

"So Ton_y_…" Jack began, licking his lips as sirens blared through the streets below, "you see, money is no longer the issue here." Jack waved his arm toward the bank.

"You didn't think before you took away my so called _distractions_, now, did you? Cause those _distractions_, as you called them, were the only reason I needed the money in the first place. So instead of gaining a bit of leverage, I'd say you lost some, wouldn't _you_?" Jack snarled, giving Tony a push against his shoulder with his free hand.

"Perhaps a b-bit…" Tony stammered as Jack pulled the knife away from his throat.

"So, now the odds aren't really in your favor." Jack said raising an eyebrow and smacking his lips together as he fingered the edge of his knife.

"Come now, up and at em," Jack said, getting to his feet and motioning for Tony to do the same. Tony stood hesitantly and took a step away from the edge of the building as Jack looked down and counted the number of cop cars circling the bank like a flock of vultures.

"Ah, ah, not too _far_," Jack whispered as he noticed Tony taking another step away from his side. Jack reached out, grasped Tony's arm, and, as he drew him close, pushed the edge of the knife inside Tony's mouth.

"Now, on with the game, shall we?" Jack grinned as he pressed his free hand behind Tony's head, pulling him close so that the henchman's face was scant inches away from his own. Tony tried to look away, horrified at the sight before him: a man who seemed to feel no pain, his mouth gaping wide, his cheeks a tattered mangle of ragged flesh.

"Look at me!" Jack shouted, pinching Tony's face, forcing his captive's gaze to meet his own. "Come now, Tony, what's the matter? Cat got your tongue?" Jack said with a smile as he angled his knife sharply against Tony's lip.

Tony shook his head, slowly from left to right, his eyes fearful.

Jack pulled the knife away and Tony touched his fingers to his lip and wiped away a bit of blood.

"I'll give you anything! Anything you want." Tony replied, waving his hand. "Just let me go, that's all I want, and you can have anything you want in return."

"_Anything_… Now that sounds like an offer I can't refuse," Jack said as he raised an eyebrow and licked his lips like a bloodthirsty animal.

"Let's see, ah yes… a _message_… that's what I want. I want to send a message."

"A message. Ok, Jack, let's start with that," Tony stuttered as Jack took a step forward, pushing Tony along with him. "What's the message you want to send?"

"That I work for _nobody_," Jack snarled in Tony's ear.

"Nobody… Got it." Tony replied frantically, realizing that he was now looming even closer to the edge of the building.

"Splendid!" Jack smiled approvingly. "Now then, I suppose I should hold up my end of the bargain." Tony nodded, his hands reaching over Jack's as they moved out from behind his head and to the collar of his shirt. Tony smiled, appearing as grateful as he could for his apparent release, but before he could piece together what was happening he felt his balance give as Jack gave him a slight shove, sending him over the edge of the building.

Jack peered down into the alley, gleefully smiling at the sight of Tony's body, laying broken in a pool of blood on the street below.

"Oh dear, clumsy me. I suppose you wanted to be let go over _there_, close to the fire escape," Jack laughed as he skipped away from the edge of the roof. He trotted towards his forgotten buddy, Slim, who was still lying on the rooftop, clutching his bloodied stump of an arm with his remaining hand.

"You're crazy!" Slim muttered pulling his gaze upwards as Jack passed in front of him.

"No... no I'm _not_". Jack said, cocking his head as he knelt down and picked up Slim's detached hand.

"Suppose you'll be wanting this, or maybe I'll take it home as a souvenir," Jack replied, waving the hand in front of Slim's face.

"Ah, wait…" Jack said with a gleaming smile as he rose to his feet and made his way back to the edge of the roof. He then looked back to Slim, holding the henchman's dismembered hand in his own as he gave it a gentle shake, making it seem as though the limp digits were waving goodbye.

"Better yet, let Tony have it!" Jack exclaimed as he threw the lifeless appendage over the building. "I think he could use a hand getting back up here!" Jack danced his way across the rooftop, stopping for a moment at Slim's side as he noticed a hardened stare upon the man's face. Jack then knelt down and pulled Slim's head upward by his oily hair.

"Why so _serious_?" Jack growled with a disfigured grin, pulling Slim's face close to his own. "Bah! Stone dead," he snarled, throwing down Slim's head. It hit the rooftop with a dull thud. He got to his feet, clicking his tongue against the back of his teeth as the roar of a helicopter began to echo in the distance. He looked down, gave Slim's head a quick jab with his foot as he walked away, and folded the switchblade knife up. He placed it in his pocket and made his way toward the fire escape on the other side of the roof, rubbing his hand against the wounds deeply etched across his face. He felt no pain other than the pain in his heart. The pain of knowing that all he had been living for was gone. Again, his blood began to boil and he knew what he needed to do. He needed to show the conniving pond scum littering the back streets of Gotham just how pathetic their attempts to control things really were. Jack found himself standing at the edge of the building and he threw his leg over the side and jumped to the metal balcony below. He climbed down an aging set of iron rungs and dropped down to another metal platform where a rusted door was propped open with a wooden board. He drew himself inside as a helicopter circled overhead, turning up a cloud of papered debris. With a slow movement of his arm, Jack closed the door, shutting himself darkness. He dropped to his knees, a maddening rage filling his every pore. A deep howl permeated through the empty room as Jack screamed out in anguish. He fell forward, hands splayed out before him as he lowered his head. He could feel the blood dripping from his cheeks pooling around his palms as his head began to swim. A dizzying race of emotions twisted through his mind. His heart pounded, and with a deep inhale, Jack fell to the floor, lost in a weakened haze...


End file.
